"Do you charge any of my people with having taken it?"
"I wad be laith to charge them that may be innocent," said my gudesire;
"and if there be any one that is guilty, I have nae proof."
"Somewhere the money must be, if there is a word of truth in your
story," said Sir John; "I ask where you think it is--and demand a
correct answer!"
"In hell, if you _will_ have my thoughts of it," said my gudesire,
driven to extremity--"in hell! with your father, his jackanape, and his
silver whistle."
Down the stairs he ran (for the parlour was nae place for him after such
a word), and he heard the laird swearing blood and wounds behind him,
as fast as ever did Sir Robert, and roaring for the bailie and the
baron-officer.
Away rode my gudesire to his chief creditor (him they caa'd Laurie
Lapraik), to try if he could make onything out of him; but when he tauld
his story, he got the worst word in his wame--thief, beggar, and dyvour
were the saftest terms; and to the boot of these hard terms, Laurie
brought up the auld story of dipping his hand in the blood of God's
saunts, just as if a tenant could have helped riding with the laird, and
that a laird like Sir Robert Redgauntlet.
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